Insanity Trails
by bezerkoid
Summary: Annoyed that their schemes are constantly thwarted, numerous of Batman's rogues flee Gotham. Where will they go and what will happen?


**A/N: I'm back to write on my favourite animated TV show of all time (except the Simpsons). Hope I haven't gone rusty, please be sure to tell me if I have.**

The leaves whirled in the wind, whipping the coat of Jonathan Crane around; battering it in the manner an angry child might smack their pillow. The cold finally bypassed his outer layer of clothing, sending a chill down his spine.

The Scarecrow didn't notice. There had been colder places for him, and compared to Arkham this was like a roaring fire. The scenery and atmosphere were also radically different, which pleased him no end.

_Then again_, he darkly chuckled, _any man would be pleased if all he could look at was unpainted brick walls and shrinks hiding behind a thick layer of glass. Right now, this is a holiday._

He continued walking. The only things guiding him were his compass and a several year out of date map of the woods and its nearby locations. To his south was Gotham City, and this time Crane didn't feel like setting up shop there again. His last encounter with Batman had left him completely out of financial resources, and the fact he'd nearly had his neck broken wasn't quite what he called appealing. As it was, the slightest delay here could prove disastrous and drain his supplies severely. He grimly sighed, wishing he'd chosen a better place to loot from than the offices of former security chief Bolton and Doctor Bartholomew.

If this trip north was to succeed, the Professor of Fear needed to move fast and be careful. Tightly clutching the pistol, he walked through the twilight towards his destination.

Indeed, if you had told Edward Nigma he had taken the wrong route out of Gotham, he would have refused to admit it, saying that his was better for a long series of reasons. While you contemplated all these reasons he would mentally scold himself, and make a mental note never again to attempt something like this unless it was avoidable.

As it was, nobody was around and fear had destabilised his trail of thought severely.

"Hellhellhellhellhellhellhell..."

The uncharacteristic swearing echoed down the cave from which he was making his escape from Gotham, his boat presently rocking wildly despite him trying to keep it stable. The crate containing his essentials for starting over lurched back and forth, and Riddler hoped that it would stay still, for if it was lost he was left completely helpless and might as well die hitting the rocks. Grasping on for dear life, he raised the acceleration and shot through the water.

That was when the side of the boat scraped the rocks and he went over the side, landing in the water. Thrashing around wilding, Edward Nigma grasped for something with his right hand, but found nothing. He then saw the crate float past, and held onto it, knowing his chances would be better holding on to it than trying to restart his wrecked boat.

Despite the cold of the water, he felt his spirits rise, for lack of a better term. As the faint light of stars appeared once he emerged from the end of the tunnel, he smiled. He had escaped from Gotham City, and could now start again on an unsuspecting population. He figured that if anybody here stood up to him, they would find themselves lacking anything to match his intellect. Looking around, he saw that he was in the middle of a harbour, obviously during its lowest point of activity. Perfect.

So where the hell was he?

Scarecrow marched forwards, hoping he'd covered enough ground for the six or so hours he'd been walking through the forest. Deciding to get his bearings as best he could, he sat on the remains of a tree stump, pulling out the map and turning on the safety for his gun in case a stupid critter got hold of it, or he dropped it.

According to the map, there was a small outpost of rangers a couple of miles from here, with an office, a supply area, and, if he was really lucky, there'd be a bed to sleep in. However, if he had to go without, he would. He guessed that there were worse areas to sleep, like a cell in Arkham.

Satisfied with his course, Scarecrow reached for his pistol, but ended up tightening his fist around something else. The action was accompanied by a scream of pain, though it wasn't human, and Jonathan Crane realised the thing he was gripping was furry. His eyes widened just a fraction as the possibilities ran through his mind before most were slowly eliminated and the most likely conclusions came to his brain's forefront.

The possibilities were now down to three, and his mind now went through these, trying to decide whether he had gripped a bear or a raccoon. He hoped, just for once, it was a harmless critter.

He sighed in relief as he found out it had been guess two, and as it scratched the side of his arm before fleeing, he didn't even care. Finding the pistol after a long amount of feeling around with his uninjured arm, he found it again and continued heading to the north.


End file.
